Missteps V.2

Chapter 15 – Zhonnic's Champion

The next three days were full of activity. During the day Jun would train with his fellow berserkers. Swords, hammers, fists, arrows; they fought with it all. The fields where they fought were lined with Band members, each one cheering on their own berserkers. Some Bands had only one, while others had ten or more. The two fields were for Berserker use only, while the Arena was used by the non-berserker fighters.

Initially, Jun had wanted to stick close to Eira, to take his cues from her. However, once the fighting had started that plan went out the became very apparent early on that the half-walls that surround the fields weren't to keep bystanders out, but to keep the fighters in.

For the first time Jun saw the destructive power of a horde fueled by Verta-Kochen, or the 'Strength of the Boiling Blood'.Where in the military he'd learned tactic and strategy, berserkers relied on their raw strength. While in a Verta-Kochen they allowed themselves to be driven by their base instincts. The blue-robed clerics of Zhonnic ran around ensuring that practice dummies and wooden targets were plenty, with assistance from the more general red dressed Tribe members. For the most part they were quick enough with the targets, but there were some squabbles.

From the sidelines, Ander was reminded of his parents and older sisters trying to corral and entertain a bunch of children whenever his relatives had come to visit.

When they weren't under the influence, Jun received instruction in how to maximize his Verta-Kochen from the others. This was usually shown in notes on his techniques or footwork, though everyone seemed to have their own style.

They were also interested in what way the power manifested itself. It was explained that the stronger a berserker was, the stronger their Verta-Kochen was, and this could manifest into other abilities. Some of them could manipulate the aura of the air around them, while others could draw upon the spirit of an animal to attack more beastly. When Jun stated that he didn't have anything else, no one had any doubt that it only a matter of time before it would manifest.

None of the berserkers seemed to care that Jun wasn't born in the Tribe. He was there now and that's all that mattered. Many of them seemed curious in how Jun had managed not to lose himself to the power.

"Lots of self-control, and a lot of broken trees." Some of them would laugh and leave it at that, while others pushed for even more detail. It seemed that being able to control the Verta-Kochen, instead of the other way around, was a hot topic.

In the Arena, challenges from within the Bands were carried out. Non-berserker fighters duked it out to settle disagreements and leadership roles. Even to Ander's untrained eyes, and most certainly Jun's, these fights were fought with strategy and technique more so than pure power. Where berserkers tended to use weapons that would inflict the most damage immediately (such as hammers or axes), most of the fighters in the Arena leaned towards weapons they were skilled in and could maneuver to their advantage (such as swords or knives).

Ander skirted the sidelines of the fighting for a while, but grown men and women beating on each other could only hold his attention for so long. Eventually he wandered over to the main structure: The Temple. The second floor housed a large library which held a surprising amount of lore. Most of the stories he'd heard before (Thaplit and the Curious Gargoyle was one of his favorites), but it was always good to get a new perspective especially if bards were involved. He copied down notes on monsters from more than a few stories.

It was during these visits that Ander had been introduced to Dirann and Moryn. Dirann was an Elven woman and the last member of the Band that had united the other Bands into the Tribe of the Red Storm. She served as Zhonnic's High Priestess. Moryn was the aging scribe of the Tribe. They'd stumbled across him in the library and had both recommended some reading material. It wasn't often they got to share their knowledge with those outside the Tribe, and they were eager to share.

Nighttime with the Tribe was a different experience. After an intense day of training, Jun and the others were sent to go soak in the hot springs. Taking up an entire wing of the Temple, the baths were chiseled out of the same marble. Incense filled the air as it calmed the residual restlessness of the berserkers. The entire wing was lit by small glow lamps that were suspended from the vaulted ceiling. The walls were decorated in beautiful mosaics depicting great battles of Zhonnic. Clerics rushed around and administered healing spells to those who needed it, while a small group sat on a small balcony above and played soft melodic string music to lull the berserkers. Jun felt like he was being prepped to be presented to a Lord.

While the Berserkers soaked, the evening meal was assembled. While some Bands preferred to eat their meals in solidarity, the majority of the Bands took full advantage of the company. Strewn throughout the camps, twelve bonfires were set up. Each Band had control of one, and it was around these that stories were told. Tales of adventure and battles were recited, as well as cautionary tales of great defeat or loss. This was a time for the Bands to come together and share information, and one could travel and sit at any fire they wished. At night, Ander wandered. Being the only halfling it was easy for everyone to recognize him. He sat in on each fire, listening to the stories in rapture, taking notes on creatures he'd never even heard of. Drinks were plenty and it was almost a crime for anyone's tankard to be empty at any time. As the night progressed, a few members of the Tribe noticed that even though Ander had been going through a tankard a fire, he was somehow less noticeably drunk than others. This started an argument, which was quickly made into a drinking competition, which eventually led into Ander drinking three berserkers into a stupor. After that, the drinking competition became a nighttime required activity and those who could best the halfling were rewarded in gold. It wasn't until three nights in, and after they had brought out a rare Dwarven liquor, that Ander was finally beaten and his opponents were given his weight in gold.

As Ander made friends and acquaintances through liquor, Jun listened. He spent his nights just absorbing everything, from the music surrounding him to the snippets of conversation he overheard. One such conversation had involved an owlbear recipe that Jun wished he'd known back at the mine.

Eira made it her mission to introduce Jun to all the Bands, to her friends and to people she was meeting with for the first time. Since Jun and Ander shared her tent, all sorts of rumors began to spread about the two of them, but they'd come to a mutual decision to neither confirm nor deny any of them. It was more fun that way. The two of them enjoyed the easy-going relationship they'd developed. Eira was eager to show Jun the wonder of the Tribe, and Jun was eager to learn. There hadn't been any sort of ceremony, but it was already understood that Jun was a member of the Tribe and an honorary member of Eira's Band.

Throughout the bouts and revelry, were the clerics. They observed every fight, bath, and downtime. One by one they would pull people aside and have quick whispered conversations. Notations were made on small pieces of parchment each one held. Ander had even been pulled aside at one point. As he told Jun later, the cleric just asked his opinion of Jun and some of the others. The only people that weren't pulled aside were the berserkers. Everyone was keenly aware of what was at stake.

The morning of the fourth day, all the Bands were assembled in the Arena. Every seat was filled, every aisle crammed. Calder, the leader of Eira's Band, had Ander perched on his shoulder. By this point, Ander had lost all of his negative feelings about being carried around. He'd grown to rather like the view from above, and was happy not to have to worry about being stepped on.

The berserkers were all assembled in the center of the Arena, unarmed, with the twenty clerics of Zhonnic standing before them in three nearly straight lines. A wooden platform had been erected just behind the clerics that faced the berserkers.

The sound of loud gong rang out and the lines of clerics quickly straightened out as the large wooden door behind the platform opened. Three figures emerged from the doorway and slowly made their way up the short staircase to the top of the platform. There they stood above the heads of the berserkers in full view of everyone.

In the middle stood the Elven woman Dirann, her blonde hair holding only hints of silver (the only sign of her age) as it piled on top of her head. Her robes were carefully tailored to her figure, with a full scabbard hung at her side. She wore a medallion of Zhonnic's symbol around her neck. To her left stood Alaric, and to her right stood Moryn, with a slightly stooped appearance and the hair crowning his head jutting out at all angles. Next to Alaric's stoic stature and slicked back hair, the two made a rather odd sight.

Dirann raised her hand, and the Arena went deathly quiet.

"Neolemus was brave. Neolemus was strong. Zhonnic greeted him with open arms, as they sat and feasted with the Champions of the past. Neolemus will never be forgotten, we won't let him." She cracked a grin. "As the sun crested over the Silver Rise Mountains, Moryn penned the final word of Neolemus's tale. Now, it is time to start anew."

"While you trained and honed your skills these past three days, Zhonnic has been watching. He watched through our eyes, heard the whispers that surround you through our ears, and found the judgements within our hearts. When your name is called, come and stand before us." Dirann took a step back as Moryn shuffled forward, pulling a folded piece of parchment out of his robe. He cleared his throat with a raspy cough, but bellowed out with a steady tenor.

"Bidrek, Band of the Phantom Claw." A silver dragonborn marched forward, his head held high.

"Maia, Band of the Eternal Wood Spirits." This time, a young dark-skinned woman, her eyes wide in shock stumbled forward.

"Ardena, Band of the Poison Crown." A woman with long braided brown hair standing near Jun sighed deeply before she took her place.

"Jun, Band of the Broken Earth." Jun blinked, sure that he must have misheard. He began to look around him, searching for the next person to step forward.

'It was your name he called.' The soft voice of Dirann said within Jun's mind. Eyes wide, he locked gazes with the Elven woman, who nodded and motioned for him to come up. It took another second or two, but finally Jun's feet began to move. Already positioned in the middle of the pack, he soon became keenly aware of everyone's eyes on him. The journey to the front seemed to take forever, but finally he made it.

Moryn slowly rolled up his parchment, and safely tucked it away in his robe before he stepped back and allowed Dirann to take center stage.

"The journey to becoming Zhonnic's Champion is not easy. To become Zhonnic's Champion, you must prove to Zhonnic himself that you are capable of not only the responsibility being a Champion brings, but also of bringing honor and bravery to his name. To that end, the four of you have been chosen as Candidates. You will each be sent away, away from your Bands and homes, to wander the world. As you travel, you will be tested. There will be three tests you must pass, and only those who can pass all three tests will be eligible to compete in the Final Bout. The tests will be at Zhonnic's will, and the time of testing will only end at Zhonnic's command." Dirann swept her eyes over the newly minted Candidates.

"You four have been chosen because of your strength, your heart, and your willingness to adapt. Zhonnic's Champion faces challenges that not even the God's could imagine. To pass the tests, you will need to rely on your instinct and follow the voice inside of you. That voice is Zhonnic, guiding you. The Dragon Lord of Lightning will steer you through the worst, but it is the faith he has in your strength that will bring you to the other side." Dirann nodded solemnly. "Follow Alaric to the Temple, where you will receive the marks of your candidacy. Tomorrow, you will receive your first taste of what's to come." Dirann took a step back and addressed the Arena as a whole.

"Tonight, we celebrate Zhonnic and our Candidates!" She yelled out, arms open wide. Everyone in the Arena began to whoop and holler. The unchosen berserkers rushed forward and pulled the Candidates up onto their shoulders. The clerics standing in the neat rows quickly scattered out of the way, whooping and clapping rhythmically as Alaric led the way to the Temple.

"So, any questions?" Alaric asked as he paced about the room. The four Candidates were in the process of having tattoos affixed to their left arms.

"Isn't there a way to do this magically?" Maia's voice was pained as she refused to watch the woman who slowly hammered ink into her arm.

"There is, but it's not as effective." Alaric grinned as he clasped his hands behind his back. "The ink has been blessed by our Head Priestess herself, and as you may have noticed, your Elders are chanting as they apply the tattoo."

"Couldn't she have blessed for this to go faster?" The dragonborn asked, annoyed. Due to his scales, it was taking the elderly man twice as long to apply the tattoo.

"It takes as long as it takes, you're in the unbudging tradition of things now. Get used to it." Alaric laughed as Bidrek scowled at him.

"Why was I chosen?" Jun felt very lost and uncomfortable. "I've only been with the Tribe for a few days." There was a snort behind him. Jun turned to look, but a quick slap to his head from the Elder next to him quickly stopped him.

"Are you really surprised?" The voice of Ardena said from behind him. Once she'd removed her top, it was revealed that she already possessed a myriad of tattoos. The only one lying down while the tattoo was applied, she seemed very comfortable. "Everyone's talking about you, the berserker who found a way to control their Verta-Kochen without the help of the Tribe. The one who coincidentally sought out the Tribe just as Neolemus died. Nope, everyone pretty much knew that you'd be picked as a Candidate."

"Everyone but me," Jun grumbled.

"Neolemus came to the Tribe later as well." The old man sitting next to Jun said softly. "Like you, Neolemus was born in a land away from the Bands. When he was fifteen, he first experienced the Verta-Kochen. His stepfather was savagely beating his mother and sisters. The urge to protect them is what triggered it. Later, he found it hard to control the Verta-Kochen, and he made the decision to leave. Like you, he was drawn to the Mountains. Unlike you, he found himself in a heavy storm of ice and snow, a storm out of season. For three days he battled the elements, losing a few toes in the process. Finally, in the middle of the night, he came barreling though the main doors, and collapsed inside the Foyer, only a few minutes after his predecessor had died."

"No one was surprised when Neolemus was put forward as a Candidate only a few days later." The Elder patted the half-finished tattoo with a rag. "The thing Neolemus feared the most about the whole Candidacy, was that if he failed to complete the tests, he wouldn't be welcomed back within the Tribe." The man smiled warmly up at Jun. "Once you are accepted by the Tribe, you are a part of it till the day your soul is destroyed. Even in death we don't let go." He went back to work on the tattoo.

"Usually Candidates who don't achieve the rank of Champion are still revered by their Bands." Bidrek grinned. "Last time a man from my Band was chosen, he was sought after by the women in the Band. He single-handedly brought forth a new generation, if you know what I mean."

"I'm pretty sure the Harken Virgins of Vowil know what you mean." Ardena rolled her eyes, though only the Elder next to her saw. "Judging by the stories I've heard, you aim to follow in his footsteps."

"I do," The Dragonborn said proudly. "The Leader of my Band wishes to increase our stock with the blood of dragons, so it is my job to fulfill that wish."

"Dragons haven't been seen for thousands of years, what's the use of an army of dragonborn if you have to dilute your blood with human blood?" Maia craned her neck backwards to see Bidrek. "Are you even full-blooded dragonborn? You're the only one I've ever heard of let alone seen."

"From what I hear, the last surviving dragonborn have hidden themselves away from the world." Alaric chimed in. "Have you any answers Bidrek?"

"No idea," Bidrek shrugged. "The Tribe found me in a slaver's market, paid a pretty penny for the 'exotic' slave. Seller wasn't even sure if I could be counted as livestock or not. Ronin, our Band leader, thankfully recognized me as a dragonborn. I owe him my life."

"Then take this Candidacy seriously." Alaric advised. "Candidates have died on this journey, been seriously maimed, or lost forever. We did not choose the four of you simply because you fit a basic set of skill requirements. It is as Dirann said, you all possess qualities that will aid you, and guide you. Do not underestimate the importance of being able to adapt when you've only known one way of life. Trust your instincts and have faith in Zhonnic. When the Elders release you, head back to the Arena and wait." Alaric nodded to each of them in turn before he turned and left the room.

The sun was just setting below the horizon when all four Candidates gathered in the Arena. Bidrek was the last one to join the group. Waiting in the Arena for each of them was their leader and one other of each of their Band's. Eira and Calder stood there, and their faces lit up when they saw Jun.

Eira ran to meet Jun. "How are you feeling? Dirann said it'd be awhile before you came out, but we've been here half the day."

"Honestly, still not sure this is real." Jun gave a heavy sigh as he grinned. Eira reached up and pinched his arm. "Ok, it's a real." The two of them shared a laugh while Calder walked up silently and took a hold of Jun's arm as he examined the tattoo that encompassed the whole bicep. The tattoo was of two fists each holding a lightning bolt within their grasps as they connected.

"They explained that the two fists represented the competition." Jun looked up at Calder, who was roughly four or so inches taller than himself.

"Jun, tell me honestly, do you feel you can do this?" Calder said softly as he twisted the arm back and forth as he examined it. "I know this wasn't something you set out to sign up for."

"It wasn't, but I'm not afraid. I set out looking for answers. Answers to what it means to be a berserker, answers to that part of myself that could no one could tell me." Jun looked over at Eira, who was smiled. "The plan was never for me to stay here with the Bands. I have a group of people, including Ander, who are counting on me. We've made plans for a future and I'm excited for it. This Candidacy fits in so well with our plans that I can't help but feel that Zhonnic listened and planned it that way."

Calder patted Jun's arm and released it. "No matter what happens, you are a part of the Band of the Broken Earth. You and your friends will always be welcome amongst us. To that end," Calder cracked a grin and went back over to a pile of blankets that Jun hadn't seen before. Eira grabbed Jun's arm and dragged him over.

"First, this is for you to show anyone who may doubt your inclusion." Calder pulled a necklace out of the blanket. On a leather string was a wooden medallion. Etched into the center was a warhammer as it slammed into the ground, earth flying into the air. On the back of the medallion was Jun's name. Wooden beads were affixed to the string on either side in an obvious pattern.

"The pattern of the beads tells everyone your position in the Band, your family, and anything else significant. Right now, these beads say you are a Candidate, a berserker, you have a daughter, and are a part of Eira's family." Calder smiled as Jun's eyes widened in shock. Jun quickly looked over at his fellow berserker who grinned widely.

"Why are you so surprised?" Eira clapped Jun on the back, hard. "I thought it was only fitting since I was the one who found you wandering around. To that end, I have a present for you." Kneeling down, Eira unveiled what was truly hiding in the blanket. "This belonged to my father, and now it belongs to you."

Jun was speechless as he took the weapon from Eira. It was a large warhammer, made out of a material even better than what he'd seen the Generals use from the army. He ran his hands lightly over the runes that were carved all over the metal. Some of the runes were large, some were small. Jun didn't have a clue whether they were simply for decoration or for some other purpose. The handle was just the right size for his hands, and it was easy to get a strong grip.

"My father had this weapon for as long as I could remember." Eira explained softly as she gazed at it.

"We used to give Baraka grief because he'd sleep with it," Calder recalled. "However, he did always seem to have a heads-up on any situation, even in the dead of night."

Eira grinned. "Hopefully it will give you an edge during the battle tomorrow."

"Battle?" Jun finally looked up from the warhammer. "What battle?"

"Didn't they tell you? It's tradition for the new Candidates to all fight each other, to officially mark the beginning of the competition." Calder picked up the blanket. "Eira and I had best be going. You and the other Candidates are the Guests of Honor, so we'll see you shortly. Go ahead and try out your new warhammer, get used to it before tomorrow." Calder winked and walked out of the Arena, Eira with him.

"So, you feel better about your place here?" Ardena said as she walked up to Jun.

Jun turned to face her. "I do, thanks. Who came to see you?"

"My husband, he told me to give all of you a break tomorrow before I pulverize you."

She gave a little laugh as she moved to stand next to Jun. She pointed out Maia on the other side of the Arena. It seemed like Maia was being lectured by an older man, while another man about her age was fitted her with a breastplate.

"That's Maia's father there, the one talking non-stop." Ardena explained. "She's one of the youngest ever to be chosen for Candidacy. I'm not surprised that he's nervous for her."

"How old is she?"

"Seventeen," Ardena sighed. "Theirs's is a small Band, only one other berserker besides herself. She had to learn how to fight early on. Her age and tenacity are probably what caught Zhonnic's eye."

"And Bidrek?"

"Only dragonborn in any of the Bands, fiercely loyal, and a strong fighter? I'd have been very surprised if he wasn't chosen."

"So, the picks for Candidacy aren't as random as the Clerics made it out to be?"

Ardena laughed. "They never said that the picks were random. The Candidates are representing Zhonnic on the world stage. Who do you think Zhonnic would rather have? Candidates with interesting backstories that the people can rally around, or berserker number three who ticks all the boxes on being generic? Something you have to keep in mind when dealing with Gods, by nature many of them are vain."

"And you? What's your interesting backstory?"

She grinned. "I left my Band when I was fifteen. My parent's and I had been fighting and in a fit of Verta-Kochen I just left one night. I was on the verge of punching my father out, and throwing my mother out of the tent. I ran to protect them from myself. When I'd calmed down, I realized I was lost. I found my way to a local town where an innkeeper took me in. I was a naïve young girl, and thought he'd done it out of the kindness of his heart. I very quickly came to find out that he expected me to pay him back with 'services'. I ripped his dick right off when he forced it into my hand. I gave the small thing to a dog as I ran out.

"After that I joined up as security on a caravan and kept moving. I spent a lot of time in taverns, arm-wrestling for coin. For a while I was a headliner in a wrestling show. A little while after my twenty-second birthday, I started having dreams, terrible ones. I saw my Band burn as fire shot out of the ground. Every night the dreams came, and every night the image got clearer. One night I realized I could see the stars overhead and the shape of a mountain outlined against them. I went to an astrologer, and then a cartographer, and was able to get a location down on a map.

"The journey took two weeks, but finally I made it to the mountain. Another day of travel and I came across my Band." Ardena smiled weakly. "So much time had passed, that no one recognized me at first. I pulled out my necklace and proved to them who I was. I was afraid that they wouldn't accept me back, seeing how I'd abandoned them. My mother and father wept as they embraced me and apologized for leaving me. I'd travelled so far and so fast in my Verta-Kochen that even after three days of looking they couldn't find me.

"I explained to our leader about my dreams, and he ordered the Band to move away from the mountain. It was odd, him just believing me like that, not even questioning if I was telling the truth. That night, the original campsite became a pool of lava as the earth opened up."

"Wow," Jun didn't know what else to say. He watched as Bidrek attached bracers to his arms. "That's quite a story,"

"That's only the beginning. I've been around a while and I've been a part of some pretty great battles. My Band patrols the Realm of Nightmares, so we get to face monsters that everyone else can only dream about."

A whistle caught their attention. Alaric stood at the entrance of the Arena, motioning for all of them to assemble. Dirann stood next to him.

Dirann smiled as she addressed the Candidates. "All day, a party the likes of which none of you have ever seen has been set up. Enjoy tonight, for tomorrow under the noon sun, you will fight. You will fight to show not only the Bands, but also Zhonnic, what we can expect in the time ahead. Now, the first Candidate to reach the Roasting Pit will receive the first slice of meat. Go." The words were barely out of Dirann's mouth before Bidrek and Maia were racing past the clerics. Jun and Ardena caught on a few seconds later and hauled out as well.

As the Candidates ran, the Bands lined the course from the Arena to the Pit that had been created in front of the Temple doors. Glowing arrows on the ground signaled turns and directions. The course did a loop around the entire complex of the Temple. Ale, flowers, and even coins were showered on the Candidates as they ran. Obstacles such as barrels, ropes, and dogs were set up and had to be navigated around. Any natural noise was drowned out by the cheers and jeers of the Tribe. The four of them stayed close, with each of them pulling ahead at one point or another.

In the end, it was Ardena who reached the Pit first, Maia hot on her heels. Jun was a couple of seconds behind, while Bidrek didn't even finish. Coming around the final bend, he'd been distracted by a female who was very receptive to his words.

"Jun!" Jun looked around for the familiar halfling voice who'd called him. A moment later Ander came out of the crowd, riding on Eira's shoulder. He clutched a tankard to his chest, and Eira held two in her hands. She handed one to Jun.

"Nice ink," Ander said as he leaned over and inspected the tattoo.

"Thanks, have you been behaving yourself?" Judging by the slight red tinge to Ander's cheeks and the aroma coming off the small body, that was not Ander's first tankard.

"I'm not a child, and yes I've been behaving." Ander stuck out his tongue. "Oh, look what Eira gave me!" He pulled out a necklace from around his neck with the same wooden carving as Jun's.

"You made him a member of the Band as well?" Jun asked.

Eira snorted. "No, the beads on his says he's a friend of the Tribe and under the protection of our Band. It also says that he can outdrink a berserker. Calder and I figured it might come in handy one day. Ander's been telling us of some of the places he wants to check out. You have a long and dangerous journey in your future, brother."

"I look forward to it." The two berserkers clanged tankards. "Are you sure about having me as part of your family? About the warhammer?" Jun's face softened as Eira handed Ander over to a passing berserker. From the shouting, it was time for the drinking competition, and they'd pulled out something special for the night: Dwarven Ale.

"Zhonnic led me to you for a reason, I firmly believe that." Eira looked down into her tankard. "These past few days, I've seen what you can do, and I've heard what kind of man you are. Anyone would be lucky to have a Brother like you. Besides, with my parents gone the only family I have is the Tribe. Ander mentioned how your adopted family didn't seem to be the best, so I figured we could help each out. If that's ok. As for the weapon, a warhammer's not my style and there no use for a fine weapon to go unused."

Jun was quiet for a minute, before he took a large gulp of ale out of his tankard. "It would be my honor to be your brother for as long as you'd have me."

Eira smiled widely as the two of them embraced. "You'd better not embarrass me tomorrow, otherwise I'll whup your ass."

"I'll do my very best." Jun grinned and they went off in search of food.

The party that night was loud, raucous, with food and drink aplenty. None of the gatherings from any of the other night parties could touch this.

Near midnight, Ander joined up with some of the other magically inclined Tribe members and together they put on a light show showcasing some of Zhonnic's most daring tasks and challenges. Alaric's voice brought these tales to light, while Dirann provided the narration of the tale of the Tribe of the Red Storm.

Shortly after Dirann was finished, the Candidates were taken into the Temple to ensure they'd be well-rested for the battle.